


Unexpected Depths

by Aurora_Kira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF!John, John Watson has the Most Powerful Patronus Charm Sherlock's Ever Seen, John's Wand Work is Really Amazing, John's a Hufflepuff and That's a Good Thing, M/M, That's Not Really an Innuendo I Swear, The Color Yellow is Really Hot, Why does Sherlock Always Underestimate John?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurora_Kira/pseuds/Aurora_Kira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s obvious from the moment he meets John Watson that the man was the most Hufflepuffy Hufflepuff to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts. When he invites John round to look at the potential flat share, all he’s thinking about are the benefits of having a fellow wizard around who won’t complain, will be easy to push around, and can clean up after him. That’s pretty much it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Depths

It’s obvious from the moment he meets John Watson that the man was the most Hufflepuffy Hufflepuff to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts. John is patient (which is useful), irritatingly moral (not so useful), kind (helpful when dealing with clients and the police), and tolerant to a fault (it does cut the whinging about things like body parts in the fridge to about half the amount that could be expected from anyone else). He also has terrible taste in clothing, which Sherlock attributes to the fact that he was forced to spend seven years wearing the color yellow, so it’s perhaps not entirely his fault.

But Sherlock can also see how the tremors in John’s left hand have been interfering with his wand work, his obvious difficulties casting more than the simplest domestic spells. He knows John can’t fulfill his healing duties at the level to which he’d been accustomed, sees the uselessness in his eyes hiding behind that Badger stoicism.

When he invites John round to look at the potential flat share, all he’s thinking about are the benefits of having a fellow wizard around who won’t complain, will be easy to push around, and can clean up after him. That’s pretty much it.

* * *

Sherlock tells Lestrade that he’s not in shock, but he really, really is. He’s never seen someone demonstrate that kind of precise aim with _Stupefy_. It completely bypassed Sherlock to bull’s-eye its intended target (Jefferson Hope, Muggle, cabbie, serial killer, but sponsored by someone who gave him potions configured to replicate the Imperious curse, so elegant) without even ruffling his hair as it shot past.

He tells himself it’s that aforementioned shock which causes him to take as long as he does to figure out who the spell caster was. He’s halfway through mapping out his deductions regarding the mysterious wizard to Lestrade (crack shot, nerves of steel, amazing wand work, dab hand at dueling, high moral fiber, possible Quidditch player) when he makes the connection and his voice stutters to a halt.

Somehow he talks his way back out of the cul-de-sac, but his surprise at John’s abilities starts there and just seems to keep growing.

* * *

Sherlock’s never really liked dueling (dull), but understands the necessity of knowing the spells for it, especially in his line of work. He’s mastered all the most important ones, particularly those that are little known among the general populace. After all, half the battle is keeping your opponent from knowing what’s coming next.

Sometimes, though, it’s important to get back to basics.

They’re stuck behind an overturned lorry, using it as an impromptu cover as they bob their heads and wand arms briefly out around the sides, shooting off body binds, disarming spells, and stunning charms in mostly random directions, trying to provide cover while they figure out what the hell to do next when John gets _that look_ on his face. Sherlock hates _that look_ , mostly because it means John’s about to do something totally brilliant and save their asses and then Sherlock won’t hear the end of it for days. His personal weather forecast now calls for intolerable smugness. Still, it’s almost worth it just to watch John being a complete BAMF (yes, Sherlock does use the Muggle internet enough to know some of the slang).

John pauses in his cursing (no, not that kind) long enough to glance at Sherlock and indicate that he should keep up his covering fire, then steps out from behind the lorry and darts toward the nearest building that has more than one story. The flashes of light that had previously been hitting the bulk of the lorry’s trailer immediately redirect towards John, but he simply starts generating shield charms as fast as the eye can blink.

Sherlock’s furious. Shield charms? Really? So basic a first form student could perform them? He’d start to yell, but he’s rather busy at the moment trying to hex the pants off the wizards attacking them. Then it hits him that nothing seems to be touching John. At all. Not a single spell gets through his shields as he reaches the door to the building and sprints inside. Later, Sherlock will replay the scene in his mind and realize that John’s shields repelled no less than seventeen separate hits (despite Sherlock’s attempts to draw fire).

John reaches the upper level of the building and starts raining stinging hexes down on the heads of their criminal opponents, which effectively distracts Sherlock from his train of thought, but he can’t help but wonder briefly about hidden talents.

* * *

The first time they face Dementors is almost Sherlock’s last. He’s completely out of his depth. He’s never been very good at defensive magic (Sherlock’s always offensive, in more ways than one) and the Patronus charm was always a stumbling block for him. The physical motions were easily mastered, but he could never think of a memory positive enough for him to produce a really tangible avatar.

He’s still desperately racking his brain, trying to think of something good enough to work when the cold darkness overwhelms him.

…

Sherlock resurfaces to the painfully blissful sensation of warmth flooding back into his dead limbs. His eyes crack open a tiny bit and then squeeze shut again immediately, overwhelmed by the brightness of cool, white light coming from all around him. Objectively, he knows exactly what has happened (Sherlock’s brain apparently never shuts off, even in the face of a Dementor’s kiss), but he can’t seem to get his body to shove off the effects enough to allow him to act on that knowledge.

Gradually he becomes able to push himself over onto his back and he tries again to open his eyes. He’s able to keep them open this time, even if they’re little more than slits. They water profusely, blurring his vision. All he can see is something enormous pacing around him restlessly. He can tell from his resolving symptoms that the Dementors are gone, but the Patronus doesn’t seem to care. It just circles him protectively again and again.

He blinks, trying to clear his vision enough to see the shape that moves endlessly around him. It’s the biggest Patronus he’s ever seen. The sheer size is unbelievable, as is the amount of light it’s putting out. He can’t help but wonder what kind of memory would generate a colossus like this.

It turns and looks at him for a moment, blinking slowly. All he can think as he meets its eyes is _Oh_. Then it walks away, fading from view as it goes. Suddenly John’s kneeling next to him, and Sherlock’s doomed.

* * *

Sherlock thinks he might have dropped his wand downstairs in the foyer, but he can’t really bring himself to care enough to do something about it. Not when John’s hands are pulling on the hair at the back of his head with an almost painful force, his thigh is pushing firmly between Sherlock’s legs, and his teeth are nipping gently at Sherlock’s bottom lip. Somehow Sherlock’s hands have found their way to John’s arse, and when he realizes this he immediately takes full advantage of the situation and pulls their hips together more tightly.

John moans against his mouth in response and his fingers flex in Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock can’t understand why they haven’t done this before. They could have been doing this for years. What the hell is wrong with them?

John pulls back just far enough to look into Sherlock’s eyes and gage his reaction. Whatever he sees there must please him, because the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. He moves a little further away and slides his hands from Sherlock’s head, down his arms, and grips Sherlock’s hands. His smile broadens as Sherlock laces their fingers together and his eyebrow quirks, asking.

Sherlock's thoughts flick quickly from how much he likes John’s sandy blonde hair to how much he likes the color yellow, from the unrelenting loyalty of a Badger to the unexpected depths that can lie within someone. There’s really only one answer.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, guys. Not sure if this turned out okay or what, but sometimes an idea grabs you and just won't let go. In this case, it was John's enormous Patronus. (God, that sounds like the worst pick-up line evar, right?)


End file.
